"That's Golden Road, miss. Leads to the big city, it does, you interested?" A man in his fifties—if his wrinkles were to be trusted—came up behind us, armed with charming, yellow teeth and a heavy accent to his fragmented Alltongue. "It leaves every two days, it does, big caravan. This be the most important trading route for the royals, you see."
"How nice." I eyed the cloud of dust being kicked up in the distance.
"Yes, and it be a glorious trip too, you see oasis, beautiful island of life, yes?" In this place where the air was thick with water and heat beat on us through a haze, such a thing seemed irresistible. Encouraged by my expression, the man continued. "And it be ruins on the way, magnificent monuments from olden times."
"Really?" None of the port-towns so far had offered excursions to ancient, abandoned ruins, and the thought sent a thrill through me.
"Yes! I fix trip for you, mister, miss, to the royal city Aransis. There be another caravan, great for travelers like yourselves. And there be other people too, having a fabulous journey thanks to our services." The man bowed, giving us his best jovial grin with all his remaining teeth.
"Fabulous?"
Perhaps we had different opinions on the concept. His caravan, or what was visible from this distance, seemed an interesting mix of dust and rudimental solutions, with three well-used wagons and few provisions. But the sights were sure to be worth the inconvenience.
"Ah, it be a pleasant journey, miss, because I, Rahid, guarantee it." Rahid flung his arms out in a grand gesture, showing off his worn clothes.
"Good. Let's leave today." I turned to Sir Sigve, delivering my delight in response to his raised, bushy brows.
Rahid's wrinkles arranged themselves in overly sad folds. "Sorry, miss, so so sorry, I am. No caravan leaving today. That one was last, it was." He waved in the general direction of the dust cloud.
I twirled the end of my admittedly dreary tangle of hair. "Could you rent us two—maybe three—animals? We don't have to travel with a caravan, right?"
"No is no, miss! If you arrive before, perhaps, but now is too late. You have to wait. Come back day after tomorrow, and I give you place in next caravan, I do. And fair price too." Rahid plastered a jolly smile on his face, whisking away the frown as if it had never marred his face.
I wanted to insist, ignoring Sir Sigve as he looked like madness had befallen me. But this was important and I had no idea why, yet the man before me would not budge. My shoulders slumped as a queasy stone settled in my stomach. "Fine. We'll leave with the next caravan."
"Certainly, miss!" Rahid's beaming face was brighter than sunshine, yellowing teeth included.
As we left in silence, I glanced at my companion. "Please don't ask. I just don't like it here."
Sir Sigve shrugged, hoisting our cumbersome luggage to a more secure hold. I felt bad for him, just a little. "All right. But it is unlike you."
I pulled my clothes closer around me, huddling despite the warm weather.
"Don't you miss the horses, Sol?" Sir Sigve watched me, a certain calculating, familiar glint in his eyes. "If you want to ride, you don't need camels—Tyra waits at home. I'm sure she misses you too."
"Good attempt, Papa. I'm not swayed."
Sir Sigve smirked. "A man has to try, daughter of mine."
Snorting, I hid a smile with my hand. "Right." A black cat strolled across the street. Did such a thing bring bad luck? My stomach flopped, and I glanced behind me. No one there.
The sun reached its zenith, suffocating the evening dew. I was always hungry, but the warmth seemed to drain away my appetite. And I usually had a strong constitution too. Still, dinner would restore me because I was Soledad, and if I lacked a will to eat, there was something gravely wrong with me.
We found a tavern with a few outside tables and a splendid view of the sea, where they served a thick and wonderful soup—it slid down, no effort required. Still, judging by Sir Sigve's stew, this was a country of cake.
I had to admit, seeing the sun sink into the ocean in orange-yellow flames caught my breath. A heavy fragrance of deep purple flowers filled the air, from thick and uneven petals on green stems. With the warmth of the pavement beneath my feet, I found myself slipping off a shoe. The setting would have been romantic too, alas the one sitting across from me was Sir Sigve. But not even a lad straight from the fairy tales would have made a difference. I was better off without such foolish thoughts.
"Perhaps I can like this place," I said, breaking a prolonged silence.
Sir Sigve looked over, finally forgiving me for my tenth cake. "Lots of people here," he said. "Good for trading."
"I guess. Let's go to the market tomorrow since we didn't get to see much of it today."
"Fiar has people visiting from several nations." Sir Sigve spoke in the same tone he would use with his recruits, generous with the wisdom of his observations. "The market it is. I might find some new weapons, and we both need fresh clothes."
"Makes it easier to blend in," I mused.
Sir Sigve shook his head. "You still stand out. No sane person would eat as you do."
"Or drink like you," I bit back.
"Skaal!" With a wry grin, he emptied his glass. "For the gods."
I gave in, emptying my own. "I suppose. The gods it is."
"The sun setting in the water reminds one of summer at home, doesn't it?" Sir Sigve said. "The view from the western windows upstairs."
"I guess." I looked down at my empty cup. "It is a little similar."
"Don't you miss Eldaborg?"
"No. Well, Madalyn. And Brage when he doesn't play with my books."
"We can go back, you know. If we left now, we could return to the ripening of strawberries by the roadside."
"No."
Sir Sigve lifted the luggage miserably. "In that case my l—Soledad, we should find lodging soon. You have watched that sunset for a while now, and it's getting dark."
It was true. Only a sliver of gold was left on the horizon. I stood up, hand lingering on the table. This was a comfortable spot, just sitting in the same place was fine by me.
Sir Sigve coughed.
"Fine, fine."
"One is enough, Sol." He sighed. Raising me to be a prim and proper part of society was not his usual pastime.
Quiet and darkness hung over Fiar like a wool blanket as we trudged through the streets. Still, there was life around us. From happy Hikarians, their language like a song in the night. It was in lights streaming out the windows, promising a festive atmosphere if we stepped inside.
"That place seems suitable, don't you think?" Sir Sigve gestured toward a door, lit up by merry torches. Laughter reached out as if beckoning us to join them. Like a siren's song, it was tempting.
My knees wobbled, ready to betray me. My companion moved forward—he would die. My hand shot out, grasping his shirt.
"Lady Soledad?" Sir Sigve looked concerned, but his voice sounded far away. "You're pale. You've been sick the whole day, haven't you? Let's get inside . . ."
"Lady . . . Soledad? As in Princess Soledad?"
I whirled around and saw two men. My legs turned to lead, stiff then melting. I recognized those patchy, dark brown clothes.
"Golden hair, green eyes, that's her." The oldest man spoke with chopped and stunted words, eyes sharp on me.
"I think I preferred the painting," the other one smirked. Well, I would have preferred the minimal decency of his lowered voice. Where did they get my portrait anyway, with Hikari such a long distance from Rimdalir?
A stench of fish and stale ale hit me. "Please excuse his rude behavior, Princess. Now, if you will come with us, you've been summoned to—"
"NO!" Every nerve in my body screamed against these men. "I don't know you." Strangers. And somehow, despite his words, my mind warned me of danger. I would not survive this encounter.
My legs shook, too frail to keep me standing.
"Quit bothering my daughter." Bless Sir Sigve for stepping in—and even keeping to our story. His hand clenched the hilt of his sword.
"Daughter?" The leader laughed, a guffaw soon joined by his partner. "I think not. This is Princess Soledad of Rimdalir, and she will come with us."
"What do you want with her? Unless you have some solid proof of authority, I won't allow this."
"Step down. The princess has been summoned to the court of—"
"No." Bile rose to my throat. Only the fingers clenching Sir Sigve's shirt kept me above ground, but if we followed these men his blood would sieve through sand, draining away among the dunes. "Fake. Please, Sigve, don't let them—"
"She will be handed over." The man stood his ground, eyes level and unwavering. He talked as if everything had been decided.
To stress the statement, the rude underling flicked his wrist to let the firelight reflect on what could only be weapons, knives resting in his hand as naturally as food in mine.
"Over my dead body." Sir Sigve's blade rang into the night. The fluidity of the battle bore a grotesque resemblance to a dance. Stab, duck, counterattack, dodge, turn, reaction to accompany each action. Sir Sigve's breath was heavy, ragged. "Run, Princess!"
My legs wouldn't move.
"Lady Soledad!" He took a cut to the flank. Sir Sigve's once perfect movements became chopped as a hiss of pain left his lips. Even as his sword bit flesh in return, the strangers were too much. My companion was losing.
I sank down upon the cobbled street.
A blade flashed in the firelight, sent flying toward Sir Sigve, but of course: years had tuned his body to react. He dodged, parrying at the same time an attack from the side—and the knife sailed past him, right at me.
All movement stopped, and three pairs of wide eyes blurred in my vision. I saw the worn handle before I felt a cold pain in my chest. Pulling at the blade, I looked up as it fell to the ground in front of me. Heard the clank as it hit stone. Or maybe it was Sir Sigve's sword, fallen from his slack grip. Guilt-ridden gray eyes faded into black.
"Well, that is one solution," a cheery voice said.